


Scars

by charn14



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Farstrider, Original Female Character - Freeform, Original Male Character - Freeform, Sin'dorei, Warlock - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-29 21:30:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3911335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charn14/pseuds/charn14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thaelinore Sunbane is a powerful warlock who craves power. After an encounter with a strange elven ranger, he desires her secrets, believing it will help him gain immense power.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars

**Author's Note:**

> Completely based of one of my Warcraft characters. It's hard to get a roleplay session to go as you want it. Please message me with any critiques or concerns. Thank you, and enjoy. If anyone wants to beta for me, I would greatly appreciate it. 
> 
> I apologize that the beginning is off and everything escalates very quickly. I had a very hard time trying to find a starting point.

The first thing the warlock noticed as he entered the tavern was a Farstrider; he could see the insignia pinned to the ranger’s breast. She must have been off duty because he did not see a bow on her. He knew from experience that Farstriders always carried their bow on them when on duty. Unarmed, he thought, smirking. He might as well have a bit of fun, considering the hell the some of the more adamant Farstriders put him through.

  
As he approached the bar, he noticed the Farstrider’s fine details. She had coral colored hair tucked behind both ears. It was short, the longest strands curling along her jawline. She had earrings and jewels decorating her long, slender ears. Freckles dotted her face. But, most notably, a deep scar ran across her left cheek. It ruined the symmetry of her face, yet he still considered her a fair young thing.

  
The warlock took a seat next to her at the bar. The Farstrider glanced at him and groaned, taking another swig of her drink. She made sure to make little eye contact.

  
“Oh, pardon me,” he called to a barmaid behind the bar. He said it a bit too loudly, making sure the Farstrider felt his powerful presence. “May I have a glass of Dalaran White?” The barmaid nodded and fetched him a glass. “Thank you, miss.”  
Turning to the Farstrider, the warlock raised his glass. “To the Sin’dorei!” He cried. She scoffed and downed the last contents of her glass. He shrugged and took a sip from his own.

  
“So,” he breathed, stirring the wine. “Why is a Farstrider here at the Inn tonight?” He leaned closer to her, taunting her. She grunted, doing her best not to look at him. She did not respond.

  
“Oh, come now,” he grabbed for her chin, forcing her to look at him. She smacked him away. “At least tell me your name. I’ll go first. I am Thaelinore Sunbane. And you are…?”  
“I go by Grantaire.”

 

Thaelinore scoffed. “A human surname? Why would you call yourself that?”

  
She turned to him, slamming her hand on the table. “Because, good sir, I don’t really care for people knowing who I am. That includes you.” She stood up and began walking to the exit.  
Thaelinore only laughed. “My, whoever gave you that scar must have cut out your common courtesy.”

  
He suddenly felt himself pinned against the bar. Grantaire held her right arm against his throat. She held a dagger to his cheek, one that he never noticed on her person. He felt the cool steel biting at his skin. He held his breath.  
“Would you like one to match?” She spat, digging the tip of her blade ever so slightly into his cheek. He hissed. Her words felt as sharp as the blade, clear and cold.

  
Thaelinore narrowed his eyes. “Get off of me, girl,” he growled, pushing his forearm into her ribs. She held fast and dug the the dagger into his skin. He felt the sharp sting of the blade and felt blood begin to trickle down his face.  
His eyes began to glow. The normal fel green became brighter. Because of the intense demonic energy within him, the edge of his irises also began to turn red. He began to summon a shadow bolt within his hand.

  
The Farstrider noticed this, her eyes glancing down to his hand. She chuckled. “Fel magics are illegal, sir,” she hissed. “It would be a great pleasure taking you in.”

  
“It appears that we are at a stand still, miss.” He held the shadow bolt in his hand, prepared to strike. “Now, I would suggest you let me go.”

  
“Hey!” Cried an elven woman behind them. Neither of them broke eye contact with each other. “Hey! Take this outside. None of this in my tavern! Out, now!”

  
“Excuse me, madame,” Grantaire said to the innkeeper, “but I am a Farstrider of Silvermoon. This man here is under suspicion of conspiring with the Burning Legion. I apologize for the inconvenience, but I must take him in.” She jerked at his collar, making him lose his focus. The bolt faded back into him, and his eyes dimmed to the normal fel green.

  
She pulled his arm behind his back and moved the dagger from his cheek to his neck. She urged him forward. Quite strong for a girl, he thought. She shoved him all the way out into the Walk of Elders.

  
He stumbled down the steps of the tavern, twisting his ankle in the process. “Fal’seron!” he cursed. He grimaced at the Farstrider. “Listen here, you bitch!” He seethed. “You have no right to assault me! You know quite well, just as all your other Farstrider bastards, that fel magics are not illegal! I will not be treated this way! I am a member of nobility!”

  
He felt the cut on his cheek sting. He touched his hand to it and pulled away. Blood painted the tips of his fingers. “Do you see this!?” He shoved his hand forward to the ranger, who kept her blade at the ready. “I demand to speak to your superior! I am not in alliance with the Legion!” He stormed up to her, his face merely inches from hers. He grabbed her by the Silvermoon tabard she wore. Grantaire gasped. “And if you ever accuse me of illegal action again,” he snarled, “I will rain fire and ash down onto your pathetic little body. Do you understand?”

  
She studied him for a moment, saying nothing. She just watched him, studying his face. He felt unnerved, exposed, but he held his ground.

  
“I will tell you something, warlock,” she whispered. Thaelinore even had trouble hearing her. “Although I know that fel magics are legal, we both know that warlocks stand on uneven ground within this city. The Warchief’s will is the the only reason your magic isn’t outlawed.” She pulled herself away from his grasp. “You and the rest of your tainted kind know full well that, given the chance and the power, the Regent Lord would have you all executed.”

  
Grantaire took the tiniest step towards him. “You know what happened to the False Prince, Kael’thas.” She stared into his eyes, attempting to find the smallest glimmer of weakness. This was when Thaelinore noticed her eyes; they did not contain the same amount of fel taint as most blood elves he had seen. They were green, yes, but the slightest traces of purple and blue could be found. It fascinated him.

  
“He and the other unnatural scum,” she continued, “cursed our people to bear the weight of his atrocities. The Legion caused our ancestors to flee because of the foolish acts of a Queen. They created the Lich King, who destroyed our homeland. And you still play with their magic?” She spat in his face, and he slapped her in retort. She stood fast, laughing.

  
“You make me sick.” She spat. “You think you have power, but you are only a coward hiding behind demons. Now be gone, or I will arrest you for assaulting a Silvermoon Ranger.”

  
He glared at her once more. He too, searched for something in her to fight back with, but he found nothing. “You do not know what it is like to be starved of magic!” He hissed. It’s true; she was a ranger. She couldn’t understand what it was like when Arthas destroyed the Sunwell.

  
“Selama ashal’anore.” He he whispered. He turned on his heel and walked away.

  
***

  
He returned to the Sanctum, lounging about the crystals as other warlocks practiced and studied, he could only remember her eyes; those intense, bright eyes made of blue and purple and green. He needed to know why she held less of the taint than others. Why was she able to avoid its spread compared to all others?

 

“By the Sun, Thaelinore,” said one of his companions. “I have never seen you in such deep a thought! What’s going on?”

  
Thaelinore sighed, sprouting a flame from his palm. He played with it absent mindedly, having in jump from fingertip to fingertip. “I saw a woman at the Wayfarer’s Rest, today. Quite odd…” He rolled his hand about, causing the flame to circumvent his hand.

  
“Do you see the beauty of the sun in her, Thael?” He joked. Thaelinore pretended to gag.

  
“My god, no!” He snapped. He thought for a moment. Still, he could not picture her in his mind; he can only see her scar, and those eyes. “She was quite peculiar… Her eyes… They contained less of the fel taint.” He looked to his comompanion for an answer. “Do you have any explanation?”

  
The man thought for a moment. “Not really, no. Even if she was held in another location during the spread of it, I would imagine she still could gain its effects after all this time.”

  
“Indeed… Well, I think I’ll lay for the night. I’ll sleep on this.” Thaelinore pulled closed the enchanted curtains. Immediately, he was enclosed in darkness, and the sounds radiating from the crystals in the Sanctum could no longer be heard.

  
Every dream he had was filled with her eyes, the colors swirling around him. He felt as though he was floating in a sea of immense power. “More…” He moaned. “More… I need more…” He soaked up the energy of the colors. He felt euphoric. It was more than anything he felt when he used fel magic. He even begged for it, to inhale the purity of the energy.

  
Thaelinore woke in a puddle of sweat, moaning horribly. He still felt the residual effects of the dream. He already felt empty despite none of it being real.

  
“I must find her again,” he whispered to himself. “I must find her!”


End file.
